Gospel Story Finder

Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles learned a significant lesson about the influence of daily prayer and scripture study in our lives and how we choose to honor the Sabbath day. As a heart transplant doctor, he often had to work on Sundays to save lives, like many people in health care.

“In 1980 we moved as a family across the street from the hospital where I trained and worked. I worked every day, including Sundays. If I finished my Sunday work by 2:00 p.m., I could join my wife and daughter and drive to church for meetings that began at 2:30.

“One Sunday late in my first year of training, I knew that I would likely finish by 2:00. I realized, however, that if I stayed in the hospital just a little longer, my wife and daughter would depart without me. I could then walk home and take a needed nap. I regret to say that I did just that. I waited until 2:15, walked home slowly, and lay down on the couch, hoping to nap. But I could not fall asleep. I was disturbed and concerned. I had always loved going to church. I wondered why on this day the fire of testimony and the zeal that I had previously felt were missing.

“I did not have to think long. Because of my schedule, I had become casual with my prayers and scripture study. I would get up one morning, say my prayers, and go to work. Often day blended into night and into day again before I would return home late the following evening. I would then be so tired that I would fall asleep before saying a prayer or reading the scriptures. The next morning the process began again. The problem was that I was not doing the basic things I needed to do to keep my mightily changed heart from turning to stone.

“I got off the couch, got on my knees, and pleaded with God for forgiveness. I promised my Heavenly Father that I would change. The next day I brought a Book of Mormon to the hospital. On my to-do list that day, and every day since, were two items: praying at least morning and evening and reading in the scriptures. Sometimes midnight would come, and I would have to quickly find a private place to pray. Some days my scripture study was brief. I also promised Heavenly Father that I would always try to get to church, even if I missed part of the meeting. Over the course of a few weeks, the zeal returned and the fire of testimony burned fiercely again. I promised to never again fall into the spiritual death trap of being casual about these seemingly small actions and thereby jeopardizing things of an eternal nature, regardless of circumstances.”3

One day I received a party invitation from one of my best friends, Joshua. The only problem was that his party was going to be on Sunday. I told him that I really wanted to be with him on his birthday but that Sunday was the Sabbath Day and not a day for me to go to parties. I asked him if he could change it to Saturday so that I could go. I learned that since he is Jewish, his Sabbath Day is on Saturday. Joshua understood why I couldn’t come to his party. Instead, I took a present to his house on Tuesday after school and shared leftover cake from his party. Tuesday even turned out to be his real birthday, and it was fun to share it together. He had even saved a party bag and treats for me!

I can still see the home in my mind’s eye that cold, gray December day in Illinois, USA. Its roof was above the ground, but most of the house was below the ground. “Probably, no one lives there,” my companion and I concluded.
We knocked. After a few moments, a lady opened the door a crack. We told her we were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that we had an important message for her. She hesitated but let us in.
She motioned us to sit on two wobbly wooden chairs. The room was dimly lit. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I noticed that the home had a dirt floor. No pictures hung on the walls. Suddenly, four sad children dressed in colorless clothing appeared.
Christmas was two weeks away. Where was baby Jesus in a manger? Where were the colorful decorations and Christmas tree?
After we delivered our message about the Restoration, the mother invited us back to talk to her husband. Before we left, we asked about Christmas. She said times were tough and that they would not have anything for Christmas that year.
After we left, my companion and I appealed for help from local ward members. A great act of love followed. Members donated food, clothes, toys, and a Christmas tree with ornaments.
We returned to the home a few days later. We knocked, and again the door opened a crack. “Merry Christmas,” we said as we greeted the father, mother, and four wide-eyed children.
We carried the tree, the gifts, and the food into the home. The family looked stunned. We set up the tree, placed gifts under it, put food on the table, and enjoyed a short visit. As we prepared to leave, I looked at the children. They all had big smiles on their faces.
We continued to teach the family, and eventually they joined the Church. As the light of the gospel brightened their home, the father developed faith and received a new vision for his family. He found a better job. The family grew closer. Soon they moved into a new home.
More than 60 years later, I still thank the Lord for allowing us to bless six of His precious children, reminding me that “inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).

By the time the curtains closed at the end of the original musical production “An Example of Love,” written and produced by the Bountiful Utah Stake Young Men and Young Women, most of the attitudes in the fictional community were changed and two people were baptized. The audience thundered its approval.

The show was developed around President McKay’s statement “Every member a missionary” and was based on the scripture “But ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people; that ye should shew forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Pet. 2:9). The story depicted a Mormon family who moved into an area where little was known of the life-style of Church members. The reaction of the neighbors was amusing as they learned about food storage containers that doubled as furniture, about a son away on a mission (they suspected he was a spy), and about eight children in the family.

Tryouts were held and over 100 people were auditioned. Ages of cast members varied from four-year-old children to middle-aged adults. There were approximately 150 people involved, including chorus members and assistants behind the scenes. Many young people had their first taste of performing on stage, and some have gone on to develop the talents stimulated by this experience.

The cast and audience were repeatedly surprised and thrilled at the wisdom and maturity written into the dialogue and the teaching moments for members and nonmembers. The insights into human feelings seemed to be far above the youthful writers’ abilities.

When the show closed, tears of joy and gratitude were shed over what the Lord had helped the youth accomplish. One nonmember expressed the desire to be baptized and a young man decided to work toward a mission as a result of their involvement in the show.

The production played four nights to near-capacity audiences in spite of the strong, bone-chilling east winds blowing outside. A small donation was asked for admission, and the youth of the Bountiful Stake donated the proceeds to the building of the Jordan River Temple.

Each of the committee members was able to bear testimony of the value and influence the production had in his or her life. Two statements seemed to echo most of the feelings: “It was one of the greatest learning experiences of my life. I know this Church is true and that we were inspired in all of our writing and directing.” “I’m so glad I was part of ‘An Example of Love’ and that I was able to be proud of it. I will remember it the rest of my life.”

Heber Jeddy Grant was tall, thin, and not very strong. He played baseball with the younger boys because he couldn’t throw the ball very far.
Jeddy wanted to play ball with the boys his own age, so he spent many hours shining boots to earn enough money to buy a baseball.
When Jeddy had earned a dollar, he bought a baseball. Then he practiced countless hours throwing it against his neighbor’s barn.
Finally Jeddy’s skill improved. The boys his own age were impressed with how well he could throw a ball, and they let him play baseball with them.
Eventually Jeddy’s baseball team became the territory champions; they went on to beat the championship teams of California, Colorado, and Wyoming.
Heber Jeddy Grant learned the importance of setting and achieving goals. This ability helped him greatly when he became the seventh President of the Church.

With almost any conversion story, I believe the process begins with members of the Church attempting to share what they believe. I was fortunate enough to have such a member do exactly that for me when I was a sophomore in high school. Her name was Cami, and she often invited me to Mutual activities and to church. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to accept the gospel at that point in my life, so I kindly turned her down. However, her efforts were not in vain.
During my high school years, I played football and had a good friend named Ryan. I frequently offered him rides home from practice. Early one morning in February of 2003, my senior year, I was at school getting help from my math teacher. A girl walked in the door and announced the death of my friend Ryan. I was astonished and almost didn’t believe the words I had just heard. A good friend of mine, whom I had just talked to a week before, was now dead.
I made the decision to miss school the next week and attend the funeral services. Upon arriving, I noticed that the building was very beautiful and bore the logo of the church to which it belonged—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The moment I walked in the door, I felt something different: a sense of peace, joy, and happiness—feelings that are not typically experienced at a funeral. As the services progressed, I noticed a new vocabulary, one that I had never before heard. The words gospel and Atonement entered into my mind for the first time. It was something new and unheard-of but, oddly enough, familiar. I listened attentively as Ryan’s mom spoke, and tears came to my eyes. Something was telling me that this “plan of salvation,” which she was speaking about, was true. I felt that the people in this chapel had something in their lives that I did not, and for some reason, I felt a desire to get it.
Now, I was not completely oblivious to Mormons. I grew up in Mesa, Arizona, where members of the Church come in great abundance. I knew two things for sure: first, many of my friends were members of the Church, and second, Church members believed in something called the Book of Mormon. I had a newfound desire to get my hands on this book and to find out what this religion was all about.
In March of 2003, one of my good friends, Bret, invited me to help with his Eagle Scout project. After school the next day we drove in his truck with another friend of ours, Camden, to where the project would be. Inspired by the Spirit, Bret directed Camden to a Book of Mormon situated in a holder in the passenger-side door. He told him to open to a verse he had recently read in the Book of Alma. My interest was sparked, and for the first time, I saw the book I wanted so very badly. However, I was too scared to say anything right then. Upon returning that evening, I worked up the confidence to ask Bret for the book. He happily gave it to me and told me to read it. That night I read nine chapters. From the moment I picked up the book, I fell in love with its message.
The next evening, I was sitting in Bret’s living room with his family and two young men dressed in dark suits, both of whom were named “Elder.” I learned these were missionaries for Bret’s church. We watched Finding Faith in Christ. I will admit that I cried during the movie and loved every bit of the lesson. I decided to continue investigating and to come to church. I eventually finished the lessons and accepted everything the elders taught me about being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ.
One night as I was kneeling in prayer after reading a portion of the Book of Mormon, I specifically asked if what I was learning was true. Overwhelming feelings of peace and joy came into my heart. I was feeling the Spirit, and it was answering my prayers. After that time, I knew without a doubt that the Book of Mormon was true. I felt it in my heart and had the knowledge given to me in my mind.
With this new knowledge, I knew what my next step would be. I was baptized on May 3, 2003. The following day, I was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I will always remember my baptism, the Spirit I felt, and the covenants I made with my Heavenly Father.
My first year as a member of the Church was a long and difficult one, but also full of rewards. Being the only member in your family isn’t the easiest thing, and I also received much persecution from old friends. In May of 2004, I received the Melchizedek Priesthood and a call to serve in the Virginia Richmond Mission, speaking Spanish. I left my nonmember family in July of 2004, not knowing exactly what I was getting myself into or just what it was that I was leaving behind.
During the beginning months of my mission, I heard many things from many friends about the progress of my parents in the Church. They had been attending church off and on and had allowed the missionaries to come by every so often. I was always excited to hear news. Then one Saturday morning my mission president told me he had just spoken with my stake president about my parents. My parents had decided to join the Church. The gospel had now changed their lives for the better, just as it had mine only two years before.
I am so grateful for my Savior Jesus Christ and for the opportunity I had to serve Him as a missionary. I now understand more fully the plan of salvation. I know that this is the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ. Upon returning from my mission in July of 2006 I was overjoyed to enter the Mesa temple with my parents, where we were sealed as a family for time and all eternity. It’s a day I could hardly have imagined just a few years earlier.

Creak, creak. Bang, bang, bang!
John looked up from his plate as he heard footsteps and then a loud pounding at the door. It was early evening on a steamy summer Sunday, and five-year-old John was finishing supper with his parents, two brothers, and three sisters. He wondered who could be visiting his family.
Father got up and opened the door. “Let us in, Zachariah!”
John groaned inside as he turned to see his father’s cousins. Dan and Marv were loud and swore a lot, and they didn’t like Mormons. Ever since John’s family had been baptized six years ago, their relatives had harassed them about being Mormons. Lately it had been getting worse.
Dan pushed past Father and stepped into the room. “We’re here to say that you have to stop associating with those missionaries and leave that church of yours,” he said. “Your relatives are tired of being called ‘Mormon-lovers.’”
“I’ve told you we’re not leaving our church,” Father firmly replied. “We joined because we know it is the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
John’s parents had been baptized before he was born, but he had heard their story many times. The elders first knocked on their door in the spring of 1883. Father was impressed with the missionaries’ knowledge of the Bible and the good feeling they brought with them on their visits. He spent months studying with them and finally decided to be baptized. Mother and the older children also joined the Church.
Cousin Marv’s face darkened in anger when he heard Father’s answer. Marv leaned toward Father and spoke in a threatening tone. “If you won’t leave that church of yours, you’d better leave Tennessee. If you don’t, we’ll take care of you just like they took care of Gibbs and Berry.”
John shuddered. He was named after the missionary who baptized his parents, Elder John Gibbs. Five years ago, Elder Gibbs and Elder Berry had been martyred by a mob.
Father straightened his back and stood tall. “I will not leave my church or stop supporting the missionaries,” he replied in a steady voice. “I would rather die a martyr than renounce my faith in Jesus Christ and His Church.”
John’s eyes widened, for Father’s face seemed to shine as he spoke. John felt a warm and peaceful feeling replace his fear.
“Leave our home now,” Father told his cousins. “I will take my family to Zion. You won’t be bothered with our presence here much longer.” His cousins glared at him, then tromped out the door and slammed it behind them.
Mother stood up and walked over to Father. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes. “We’ll have to leave sooner than we thought,” she said.
John’s family was trying to save money to move to Zion, but they barely had enough to survive. He wondered how they would get enough for the eight of them to make the journey from Tennessee to Utah.
As if reading John’s mind, Father spoke to the family. “We don’t have enough money saved to travel all the way to Zion, but we will start our journey next week. We’ll have to work along the way to earn money for the rest of the trip.” He paused, then quietly added, “The missionaries taught us that no sacrifice is too great for the Lord. Now it’s time for us to follow their example.”
As John finished his supper, he thought of the journey ahead. How long would it take? What would Zion be like? John didn’t know what lay ahead, but he would stand tall in faith, just like his father.

By direct contrast, I can tell you about a ward member who grew up in a home where she didn’t feel safe and battled feelings of depression and worthlessness. When she received her patriarchal blessing, she asked herself, “Who is this person being talked about here? It isn’t me.” But over the years she has consulted that blessing to remind herself how Heavenly Father sees her. As her faith grew, she came to believe the promises in her blessing.

Feike jumped from the edge of the canal onto the deck of the boat where his family lived. His wooden shoes clunked loudly as he raced toward the white cabin at the back of the boat.
“Today is the day,” the 12-year-old boy thought excitedly. “Today Father will give the missionaries his answer.”
Latter-day Saint missionaries had begun preaching in the Netherlands a few years earlier, in the 1860s. Feike had seen them and brought them home, hoping they would teach him English. He soon learned, however, that the elders had greater things to teach him and his family.
At the door of the small cabin, Feike removed his wooden shoes, turning them upside down to keep out water. His classroom at school was larger than the small cabin that was his home, but Feike loved the tiny kitchen with its wood-burning stove. His parents and younger brothers and sisters slept on wall beds that folded up behind the cupboard doors at the back of the kitchen. Feike, the oldest, slept in the storage compartment at the front of the boat.
He slipped into the living room and sat down quietly. Elder Swensen was speaking, carefully reviewing the teachings he and Elder Lofgren had shared on so many winter nights in this very room. Feike had felt the warmth of the Spirit each time and wanted to be baptized right away. He thought his mother did, too, because she spoke often of going to the temple. But Father would not commit to something unless he knew he could do it, and so he wouldn’t be baptized until he was sure he could keep his baptismal promises. Today was the day Father would tell the missionaries his decision. Feike had been praying so sincerely for weeks that he was certain his father’s answer would be yes.
“Brother Wolthuis,” Elder Lofgren said to Father, “I feel you know the gospel is true.”
Father, looking at the floor, nodded his head.
“Are you willing to be baptized?” Elder Lofgren asked. “Can you make the necessary sacrifices?”
The room was silent. Even Feike’s younger brothers and sisters didn’t wiggle. Everyone stared at Father. Slowly he raised his weatherworn face.
“Yes, I know The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. I will be baptized.”
Feike beamed. Heavenly Father had heard his prayers. Mother was smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“We will be ready to sail to America within the month,” Father promised.
“Sail to America?” Feike blurted out.
“Yes, Feike,” Father said. “Church leaders have asked all the Saints to come to Salt Lake City.” He paused. “Uncle Geert has agreed to buy our boat.”
“But the boat was to become mine one day! I was to become the skipper!” Feike desperately reminded his father.
“I know. I have not forgotten my promise,” Father said. “Uncle Geert has agreed to keep you on as his hired man if you choose not to go to America. Then when you are old enough, he will sell the boat to you.”
Anger washed over Feike’s whole body, erasing all the joy he’d felt about his father’s baptism.
“I thought this Church was true,” Feike exploded, “but to choose between the Church and your country, your relatives, and your boat—it is too much to ask!”
Feike stormed to his small room in the bow of the boat. Out of habit he banged on the side of the boat with a small hammer to signal he’d made it without falling overboard. Tonight he pounded again and again.
A long time passed as Feike lay on his mattress. He thought of the mules pulling the boat through the canals of the Dutch provinces. He thought of the small grocery boats that pulled up alongside their boat so Mother could do her shopping. But mostly Feike thought of the wind filling the tall sails of their boat as they crossed the open waters of the sea. One day he would sail on open waters as the skipper … if he said good-bye to his family when they went to America.
Just then he heard a knock at his door.
“Come in,” Feike mumbled.
His father sat on the end of the bed. “I’m sorry, Feike. I thought you understood that if we were baptized we would go to America.”
“I knew others were going, but I didn’t think you would ever leave the boat. I thought you loved being a skipper.”
Father’s eyes filled with tears. “I do—more than you’ll ever know.”
“What will you do in America?”
“I don’t know. Sailing has been my life. But the Lord has called His people to Salt Lake City, and your mother and I have decided to go.”
“But to give up my dream of being skipper—to leave the boat?”
“It is a difficult decision that only you can make,” his father agreed. “A couple of nights ago as I struggled with the same questions, I found a scripture that helped me. When Jesus called James and John, they were fishermen. But the Bible says that ‘they immediately left the ship … and followed him’ (Matt. 4:22).”
The skipper and his son sat in silence for a long time. Feike looked into his father’s clear blue eyes. He sensed his father’s faith and courage, and he knew what he needed to do. Finally he spoke.
“Can we take the boat out once more before we sail to America together?”
The skipper pulled his son into a hug.
“Yes, I’d like that very much.”

Paying lobola is meant to demonstrate how valued the bride is by both her family and the man she intends to marry. It symbolizes a union between families. So, throughout our lives, we had always strived to be respectful, successful, intelligent women. We wanted to make our family proud and pay them back for raising us well.
But in 2014, when we were both in early young adulthood, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then serving as Second Counselor in the First Presidency, came to speak to the members in Africa. We felt the pure love that God has for each of us as he spoke. However, during his talk, he taught that the tradition of lobola was no longer in line with the gospel. He discouraged the practice, saying: “The consequences of [bride price] are manifold and lead to behavior that is unbecoming for a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. … The Lord’s way is the real path to bring families together forever.”3
Our entire culture takes part in this custom, and we always expected to as well, so we were puzzled after his message.
Our first thoughts were humorous: “We did not work this hard to not get any cows!”
But truly, we were confused. If Heavenly Father didn’t want us to practice this tradition anymore, when most people in our culture refuse marriage without lobola, how could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family? The gospel already seemed peculiar to our family members who weren’t part of the Church, but now it was going to become even more difficult for them to understand.
How could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family?
When we saw some members leaving the Church because they couldn’t understand this teaching from a living prophet, we realized we needed to take our questions to Heavenly Father.
When we joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as teenagers, we promised each other to always help each other stay close to the Lord, no matter what. We decided that wherever life took us, we would always hold on to our faith because we had seen how living the gospel leads to true joy.
So, when we were struggling to understand Elder Uchtdorf’s message, we remembered that promise. We were reminded of the importance of prioritizing a relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and trusting in Their promised blessings. We both focused on deepening our faith in Them to rebuild that trust.
When I (Phindi) was praying to Heavenly Father for guidance about dating and marriage, I had a thought come to mind. An Apostle of the Lord was inspired to come to my country and talk about a tradition specific to our culture because Heavenly Father knows us individually. He knows what may be limiting us, and He has our best interests at heart when it comes to the covenant path.
Photograph of Durban South Africa Temple by Matt Reier
I sincerely pondered this truth and realized that Heavenly Father truly doesn’t want our eternal marriages and families to be limited by worldly traditions. Thinking about this helped me see how lobola is often being corrupted, especially when the steep price prevents some couples from getting married at all. I started to realize I could trust Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ more than my own knowledge, even if it was hard.
I (Samu) turned to the scriptures to find answers for my anxieties about the future. I have always believed that this gospel has room for questions and encourages us to gain knowledge and seek personal revelation. So I studied the Book of Mormon more than ever before. Over time, I felt the truths in that book confirming that I could trust the words of today’s prophets. I felt my heart changing and my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ deepening.
As I continued to worry about what my future would look like in regard to dating and marriage, I remembered the truth given from Nephi that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). And with that, I know I can trust Him and have hope in His promises.
As President Russell M. Nelson has taught, life is about learning to “let God prevail”4 and to “overcome the world.”5 Knowing this helped us to gradually deepen our trust in Heavenly Father. Even if we don’t know how marriage will work out for us, we know that as we keep our covenants and focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, we will be blessed with miracles as we let go of this tradition.
Relationships and dating can be hard and uncertain for anyone seeking temple marriage anywhere in the world. When we are left longing for an eternal companion, the future can sometimes feel daunting. Trust us—we personally face so many unknowns about how life will work out when most of our culture won’t consider marriage without paying lobola.
But despite the odds against us (and whatever odds, cultural barriers, or challenges you may be facing regarding dating and marriage), we truly believe Heavenly Father will continue to help all of us navigate and fulfill our righteous desires as we put our trust in Him. When we focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, everything else about the future is less daunting and more full of hope.
Sometimes we feel like we are missing out, and we wonder if it would be easier to simply give in to the customs, expectations, and standards of the world. But when we ponder the blessings and the joy that the Lord has in store for us as disciples of Christ, we realize that we are not missing out at all. We are in the hands of a loving Father in Heaven, who will guide us to unimaginable blessings.
In the meantime, we continue to do our best to progress spiritually and temporally. We build beautiful relationships with friends, family, and each other. The relationships we have with our loved ones—and especially with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—will always help us feel connection and love and give us the strength to continue on the covenant path.
Some righteous desires may seem impossible as we navigate the ups and downs of young adulthood. But as we continue to keep our covenants and seek the Lord, we hold on to hope for temple marriages. Until then, as President Nelson taught, we can always seek and expect miracles.6 We really do experience the joy, blessings, and, yes, the miracles of living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We hope you know that miracles and blessings are in store for you too.
The authors live in Gauteng, South Africa.
The Mkhize sisters are originally from KwaZulu Natal, South Africa. Samukelisiwe is a UX copywriter who loves singing with her family, blogging, and watching Korean dramas. She loves her Heavenly Father and her Savior Jesus Christ and believes that having a relationship with Them has made her a better daughter, sister, and friend. Phindile is a software engineer and enjoys serving in the Relief Society presidency, watching movies and Korean dramas, and hanging out with friends and family. She loves the meaning, purpose, and eternal perspective that the gospel brings to her life.
Notes

Brothers and sisters, I believe in angels, and I would like to share with you my experiences with them. In doing so, I hope and pray that we will recognize the importance of angels in our lives.
Here are Elder Jeffrey R. Holland’s words from a past general conference: “When we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. … Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind” (“The Ministry of Angels,” Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2008, 30).
It is about angels on this side of the veil that I want to talk. The angels that walk among us in our everyday lives are powerful reminders of God’s love for us.
The first angels that I will mention are the two sister missionaries who taught me the gospel when I was a young man: Sister Vilma Molina and Sister Ivonete Rivitti. My younger sister and I were invited to a Church activity where we met these two angels. I never imagined how much that simple activity would change my life.
My parents and siblings were not interested in learning more about the Church at that time. They were not even willing to have the missionaries in our home, so I took the missionary lessons in a Church building. That small room in the chapel became my “sacred grove.”
One month after these angels introduced me to the gospel, I was baptized. I was 16 years old. Unfortunately, I don’t have a picture of that sacred event, but I do have a picture of my sister and me at the time we participated in that activity. I may need to clarify who is who in this picture. I am the taller one on the right.
As you can imagine, remaining active in the Church was challenging for a teenager whose lifestyle had just changed and whose family was not taking the same path.
As I was trying to adjust to my new life, a new culture, and new friends, I felt out of place. I felt alone and discouraged many times. I knew the Church was true, but I had a hard time feeling part of it. While uncomfortable and uncertain as I tried to fit into my new religion, I found the courage to participate in a three-day youth conference, which I thought would help me make new friends. This is when I met another saving angel, named Mônica Brandão.
She was new in the area, having moved from another part of Brazil. She quickly got my attention and, luckily for me, accepted me as a friend. I guess she looked at me more from the inside than the outside.
Because she befriended me, I was introduced to her friends, who then became my friends as we enjoyed many youth activities I attended later. Those activities were so critical to my integration into this new life.
These good friends made a big difference, but not having the gospel taught in my home with a supportive family still put my ongoing conversion process at risk. My gospel interactions in the Church became even more crucial to my growing conversion. Then two additional angels were sent by the Lord to help.
One of them was Leda Vettori, my early-morning seminary teacher. Through her accepting love and inspiring classes, she gave me a daily dose of the “good word of God” (Moroni 6:4), which was so needed throughout my day. This helped me to gain the spiritual strength to keep going.
Another angel sent to help me was the Young Men president, Marco Antônio Fusco. He was also assigned to be my senior home teaching companion. Despite my lack of experience and different appearance, he gave me assignments to teach in our priests quorum meetings and home teaching visits. He gave me the chance to act and to learn and not just be an observer of the gospel. He trusted me, more than I trusted myself.
Thanks to all these angels, and many others I encountered during those important early years, I received enough strength to remain on the covenant path as I gained a spiritual witness of the truth.
And by the way, that young angel girl, Mônica? After we both served missions, she became my wife.
I don’t think it was a coincidence that good friends, Church responsibilities, and nurturing by the good word of God were part of that process. President Gordon B. Hinckley wisely taught: “It is not an easy thing to make the transition incident to joining this Church. It means cutting old ties. It means leaving friends. It may mean setting aside cherished beliefs. It may require a change of habits and a suppression of appetites. In so many cases it means loneliness and even fear of the unknown. There must be nurturing and strengthening during this difficult season of a convert’s life” (“There Must Be Messengers,” Ensign, Oct. 1987, 5).
Later he also taught, “Every one of them needs three things: a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God’” (“Converts and Young Men,” Ensign, May 1997, 47).
Why am I sharing these experiences with you?
First, it is to send a message to those going through a similar process right now. Maybe you are a new convert, or coming back to the Church after wandering around for a while, or just someone struggling to fit in. Please, please, do not give up on your efforts to be part of this big family. It is the true Church of Jesus Christ!
When it comes to your happiness and salvation, it is always worth the effort to keep trying. It is worth the effort to adjust your lifestyle and traditions. The Lord is aware of the challenges you face. He knows you, He loves you, and I promise, He will send angels to help you.
In His own words the Savior said: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your [heart], and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (Doctrine and Covenants 84:88).
My second purpose for sharing these experiences is to send a message to all members of the Church—to all of us. We should remember that it is not easy for new converts, returning friends, and those with a different lifestyle to instantly fit in. The Lord is aware of the challenges they face, and He is looking for angels willing to help. The Lord is always looking for willing volunteers to be angels in others’ lives.
Brothers and sisters, would you be willing to be an instrument in the Lord’s hands? Would you be willing to be one of these angels? To be an emissary, sent from God, from this side of the veil, for someone He is worried about? He needs you. They need you.
Of course, we can always count on our missionaries. They are always there, the first ones to enlist for this angelic job. But they are not enough.
If you look around carefully, you will find many in need of an angel’s help. These people may not be wearing white shirts, dresses, or any standard Sunday attire. They may be sitting alone, toward the back of the chapel or classroom, sometimes feeling as if they are invisible. Maybe their hairstyle is a little extreme or their vocabulary is different, but they are there, and they are trying.
Some may be wondering, “Should I keep coming back? Should I keep trying?” Others may be wondering if one day they will feel accepted and loved. Angels are needed, right now; angels who are willing to leave their comfort zone to embrace them; “[people who are] so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind [to describe them]” (Jeffrey R. Holland, “The Ministry of Angels,” 30).
Brothers and sisters, I believe in angels! We are all here today, a giant army of angels set apart for these latter days, to minister to others as extensions of the hands of a loving Creator. I promise that if we are willing to serve, the Lord will give us opportunities to be ministering angels. He knows who needs angelic help, and He will put them in our path. The Lord puts those who need angelic help in our path daily.
I am so grateful for the many angels that the Lord has put in my path throughout my life. They were needed. I am also grateful for His gospel that helps us to change and gives us the chance to be better.
This is a gospel of love, a gospel of ministering. Of this I testify in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I anticipated success when I entered a Lions Club speaking contest that spring, too. The topic was “Generation Gap—Fact or Fantasy?” My talk was custom-tailored for the judges’ preferences, and I won the contest by defeating a girl named Karen, a Mormon.
I won because I had said what the judges wanted to hear. But in my mind, Karen’s talk based on her church’s doctrines, was far more thought-provoking. Her delivery enveloped me in its sincere conviction. We became friends.
As we got to know each other, our conversations sometimes evolved into debates, with Karen defending religion while I argued for science. Our discussions served mostly to frustrate her.
But Karen had a friend named Nese. Nese never said more than “Hi” to me in the halls, but she had paid close attention to my conversations with Karen.
Nese never told me directly that she was a Latter-day Saint. She strolled up to my table in the library one day during study hall. “May I sit down?” she asked. At some point during the conversation, she said she was a member of the house of Israel. I assumed she meant she was Jewish.
We had study hall at the same hour, and during the remaining months of our senior year, Nese and I sorted through the many religious questions flooding my mind. She told me later she “just wanted to share her opinion with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” I would voice my ideas on a subject like life after death, and then she would explain her beliefs. Her confidence amazed me. It wasn’t until later that I found out she was a Latter-day Saint.
By then our talks were so enjoyable I began spending lunch hours with Nese and her Mormon friends. They were refreshing to be around. No smoking, no swearing, no off-color jokes. Best of all, they never seemed to put anybody down—they respected each other’s feelings. It was different being with them, and I enjoyed it.
Toward the end of the school year, Karen invited me to a Gold and Green Ball, whatever that was! I had never been to a dance in a church, and I had to dress in a suit! I was amazed to see a gym in a church building.
But what went on in the gym surprised me even more. Adults and teenagers were talking, laughing, and even dancing together. My friends had always thought it was “uncool” to like your parents. All over the nation there was an uproar about communication breakdown between parents and their children. But these people all seemed to be friends, regardless of age.
I asked Karen about it. She said it was because of the Church. As she took me on a tour of the building, I pondered what she had said. By the time I went home that night, I felt these people were unique, choice in some way I didn’t fully understand. They had a lot to be proud of.
After graduation my summer job stole me from my new-found group of friends. I was employed at a gas station, where I was nearly starved by my co-workers’ lack of concern. I was depressed, unhappy, and alone.
One afternoon in July, Nese and a friend drove up to the station. Just seeing them boosted my morale. They were planning to sing in the Oakland Temple Pageant and invited me to attend.
I’ll always remember that special evening. It was the first time I heard the story of Joseph Smith and learned the history of the Latter-day Saints I had grown to admire. At the end of the pageant, the audience rose and sang “The Spirit of God Like a Fire is Burning.” How I wanted to know the words of the song so I could join the chorus! I felt completely full of respect and love.
The crowd left slowly. Standing in the parking lot, I looked up at the temple. A voice in the back of my mind told me that some day I would enter that building.
When fall came, Nese left to attend Brigham Young University. I returned to Berkeley. Loneliness encompassed me again. Nese’s letters arrived regularly, two or three times weekly. I asked her why she was Mormon. The next letter bulged the envelope. It was a detailed explanation of her struggle to remain active and maintain a firm testimony while living with her inactive family.
I decided I had to go to church. That was a difficult decision because no one pushed me to attend. I had been allowed to come to the conclusion on my own.
I nearly changed my mind when I opened the door. I entered the chapel by myself, spotted an empty seat on the back row, and quickly sat down. Not all alone here, too! I wondered inside.
Then suddenly Karen, who had appeared from nowhere, was shaking my hand. “Good morning, David,” she said, grinning. I wasn’t alone anymore. She introduced me to people, showed me which class to go to, and sat beside me the entire time.
I was impressed to find a class I could bring my questions to and get answers. To top it off, the teacher, Sister Booras, took time afterwards to thank me for coming. “You added a great deal to our class,” she said. I had never felt so at home before.
But I still didn’t have that spiritual testimony all the Church members kept telling me about. I liked the Church; I could believe in many of its teachings, but I didn’t know it was true. I kept attending the meetings anyway.
One month later, Nese urged me to come to BYU. I jumped at the chance and rushed to Provo for a whirlwind visit. She described her school as if it were part of her. As we walked around campus, all we talked about was religion. My mind was overflowing with questions again, as it had been in the high school library. I still didn’t see how everything fit together.
The stone in my path was the principle of eternal progression. “It’s no good,” I said. “How can man, who was created by God, ever hope to be a god?”
We were standing in front of the Joseph Smith Building. Nese paused for a moment.
“Dave,” she said, “before we were ever created physically, we were created spiritually as God’s sons and daughters. A part of us, our spirit, comes directly from him as our Father.”
It finally clicked! It all fell into place. My grin spread to a smile and erupted as a laugh. I couldn’t stop grinning. My mind jumped from doctrine to doctrine. “Yes, yes, it all fits!” I wanted to dance or sing or run.
There, on the steps of the Joseph Smith Building, the Spirit bore witness to me of the gospel plan. I knew in my heart I would join the Church.
I still had to read the Book of Mormon, learn to pray, and take the missionary discussions. But my life was changed from that moment on. I had found truth, purpose, and a life to fulfill. Five weeks later I was baptized.
Eighteen months later, my impression that I would one day enter the Oakland Temple came true, as I received my endowments one week before leaving on a mission. When I returned, Nese and I decided to continue the eternal journey we had begun with conversations at a table in a library. We were married in the Provo Temple.
Every time I look at my wife, I thank the Lord that there was a girl in my high school with enough faith to “just want to share her beliefs with someone who wouldn’t laugh at her.” She touched my head and changed my life.

I’ll never forget a lesson I learned as a young man, age 14, from a great leader. I went up to Scout Camp Kiesel east of Ogden in the summer of 1936. I reported at the lodge to our Scout executive. We called him “Uncle Dil.” You knew him as Elder S. Dilworth Young. Uncle Dil was our Scout executive. He had long legs. He was as tall as a pine tree to every young boy. He didn’t smile much, but he knew and loved boys.
I went up to the lodge and reported to him. I said, “Uncle Dil, I would like to pass my cooking merit badge.”
And then in his encouraging way he said, “Do you think you can cook without killing somebody?” You know, that really builds your self-image to begin with.
I said, “I hope so.”
Then he said, “Have you got a buddy who can run?”
I said, “What do you mean?”
He said, “Well, someone who can run up here to the lodge from your campsite every time you cook something.”
I said, “Well, Bob’s over here.”
“Well, all right, you send Bob up every time you cook something, and the examiner will come down to your campsite and taste it.”
I said, “Great! Who’s going to be the examiner?”
He said, “You’re looking at him.” Now there was nothing in the Scout book that said I had to pass my cooking merit badge to Uncle Dil. I mean, there were a lot of men in camp. Why Uncle Dil? Boy, I went back to my camp and I wasn’t sure that I wanted to become an Eagle Scout if I had to cook for Uncle Dil. I’ll never forget that week.
I had to cook an omelet. I sent Bob up the hill, and down the trail came Uncle Dil. I can see those long legs to this day. He came down to my campfire, tasted my omelet, and didn’t even smile. He just kind of grunted and walked away. Next I baked my oven bread in a reflector oven. I sent Bob up the hill, and down came Uncle Dil again. He tasted it and said, “It’s kind of doughy on one side, isn’t it?” Then I baked a bread twist on a stick over a fire. Then came the stew. I did everything that week, and never worked so hard in my life to try to please somebody. At the end of the week, just as we were breaking camp, I went up to the lodge and I said, “Uncle Dil, did I pass?”
He asked, “Did you do everything, LaMar?”
I said, “Well, remember you came down to our camp, and I cooked those meals for you.”
For the second time he asked, “Did you do everything?”
“Well, yeah, Uncle Dil, there was the omelet, the oven bread, the stew, the twist.” I enumerated all the things I had prepared.
For the third time he asked, “LaMar, did you do everything?” By then I was a little exasperated, I took my Scout book, opened it to the cooking merit badge, and went down every requirement, reading aloud and checking it off. I got down to requirement number ten. Number ten said, “Carve and serve a complete meal.” He looked at me and I said, “Well, I’ve done that many times at home.”
Then he said, “You’ll have no objection, then, to coming to my home a week from Sunday at noon to carve a roast and serve dinner for us.” I could have died right on the spot. I mean, no way did it say that I had to go to Uncle Dil’s home to carve a roast and serve a meal.
I prepared all week—we never ate so well in all our lives as we did that week. It was during the depths of the depression, but every day that week my mother had a different kind of roast, and I would carve it and make it look nice.
I got up on Sunday morning, nervous as could be. I went to priesthood meeting and Sunday School. Then I got on my bike and rode the two miles up the foothills to 24th Street and Taylor Avenue. Uncle Dil lived in a great big, three-story, red-brick house. The lawn kind of sloped down at the front. I took my bike and put it up by the old wooden porch. I climbed up on the porch and nervously knocked on the door. No answer. So I knocked a little louder. No answer! I said to myself, “Good, he’s forgotten all about me.” I got on my bike, and started to ride off of the lawn, and I had just reached the sidewalk when he came around the corner in his car with his family. They were just returning from church.
He asked, “Where are you going, LaMar?”
I said, “Just to park my bike over by a tree.” I didn’t dare tell him that mentally I was halfway home.
He got out of the car and invited me to go into the kitchen with Sister Young, “Aunt Gladys.” “She’ll have things there for you to do.” I went into the kitchen, and we began to get out the food that had been cooking during Sunday meetings.
Do you know that when you carve meat you carve it across the grain? Well, she brought out the roast. I had never seen a roast like that in my life, before or since. I couldn’t even find a grain. I went to work on it and tried to make sure that I got the slices even. I never worked so hard in my life. That roast had more gristle and bone than I had ever seen. Finally I got it all together and took it to the dining room.
We sat down at the table, and then Uncle Dil had the nerve to say, “LaMar, will you say the blessing, please?” Now there was nothing in the merit badge book that said I had to say the blessing at Uncle Dil’s house. Oh, I’d done it at home all right, but this was a little different. I said the blessing on the food, not sure if I was being judged on my cooking merit badge or my ability to pray.
Things went pretty well until halfway through the meal. Uncle Dil said, “LaMar, we’ve run out of bread. Will you go in the kitchen and slice some more bread?” Now that’s where I almost met my Waterloo.
I got into the kitchen. Aunt Gladys had baked fresh bread the day before. I was sure that Uncle Dil hadn’t sharpened his butcher knife for several years. I took that butcher knife and started on that bread, and the harder I sawed, the flatter that bread got. I’d get a slice off, and then I’d stretch it back to size and place it on the plate. Then I’d slice another slice and stretch it back. I sliced a third one and stretched it also. Then I got the fourth piece and stretched it. Let’s see—there was one for Uncle Dil, Aunt Gladys, Leonore, and young Dil. I decided that I didn’t want any more bread. I decided that four slices of bread were enough.
I took the bread back into the dining room, and we finally got through eating. Then I had to help clear up the table and do the dishes. When I got through, I said, “Uncle Dil, did I pass?”
He said, “LaMar, did you do everything?”
I said, “I surely hope so.”
My cooking merit badge was the toughest merit badge I ever passed in my life—lots tougher than lifesaving. But Uncle Dil was trying to teach me a correct principle. He was teaching me to do my best, to never take a shortcut, and I have never forgotten that lesson. I don’t think he did either.

Dwight (center) with his mother and friend Jeff on his baptism day.
Photograph courtesy of Dwight G.
I grew up learning Christian values. I knew I was created by God and that He would protect me as I kept His commandments. But eventually I drifted away from my faith and was filled with doubt. In 2020, my friend Jeff, who is a member of the Church, explained BYU–Pathway Worldwide to me, how it can help students learn English and earn a bachelor’s degree online.
I wanted to learn more!
In my country, most young people can’t afford to go abroad for a better education. BYU–Pathway was the solution I didn’t know I needed. My fear of the future was replaced with a new hope that blazed within me, and I knew God hadn’t abandoned me.
I learned many valuable habits and skills in my classes, like how to manage my finances, improve my English, and be a proactive employee. I quickly discovered that BYU–Pathway is not only an educational journey but a spiritual one too. In my classes, I also learned about Nephi and modern-day prophets and came to know that their teachings were true. And I realized that, if I wanted to fully grasp what I was learning, I needed to learn more about the Church.
I shared my feelings with Jeff, and he immediately contacted the full-time missionaries. Each day of study I had with the missionaries filled me with a light that brightened my view of the world. I was like a lost child who was finally coming home. I discovered I am a son of God, I have a purpose, and there’s another book (the Book of Mormon) written by ancient people who recorded the miracles that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ provided for them.
Eventually I was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. And my faith in Jesus Christ has reached a height I never thought possible.
Dwight G., Maritime, Togo

Twenty years ago, I was named the new president and CEO of Deseret Book Company, which was facing stiff challenges. The company had been losing a lot of money and every part of its business was being disrupted. I knew nothing about turning a company around and was in way over my head.
A few months into my job, President Gordon B. Hinckley—who had appointed me to this position—called me to his office to ask how things were going. I described the problems I was uncovering and said, “President, I don’t think I’m smart enough to turn this company around. I wish I were smarter.” To which he instantly responded, “Sheri, I wish you were smarter too.” After he finished laughing, he said, “Are you smart enough to hire smart people?” I thought for a moment and said, “Yes, I can do that.” “Well, then, go hire the brains,” he said. “Hire people you trust who will make you smarter.”
In essence, President Hinckley was saying, “Sheri, you probably aren’t smart enough to turn Deseret Book around by yourself. But if you’ll hire smart people and listen to them, you can do it.”

In early 1991 I was involved in a car accident that left most of my body paralyzed. Since then, I have had a lot of time to compare my life before that incident with my life now. In some ways it is similar. Yet there are numerous differences.
Before my accident I had the attitude that I should try to perfect the four basic aspects of my life. Ranked in order of importance at that time, they were (1) physical ability, (2) mental ability, (3) spirituality, and (4) emotional stability.
Now the order of importance of these four vital cornerstones of my life has changed.
Before the accident, my perspective was that of an 18-year-old athlete who thought he knew everything. Although I grew up in a religious family and felt good about my beliefs, spirituality was not my top priority. Instead, physical strength, speed, and quickness were more important to me than either religion or school. I felt that going to school was a necessity simply to remain eligible for sports.
Although I did fairly well academically, I often found myself practicing for the football team or the baseball team rather than studying for a test or completing a class assignment. I had academic goals and important religious goals, but these came after my athletic aspirations. The experiences I’ve had as a result of the accident have helped me better understand what is really important.
Since 16 February 1991, the day I fell asleep driving my truck, I have had the opportunity to look at life from a completely different viewpoint. I have had a lot of time to think about and adjust my priorities. I still love athletics and believe they have the potential to build character. But they are not the most important thing in my life anymore. I recognize now that my religion, my family, and my friends are the foundation for my happiness, not winning at sports.
My mind is the most precious asset I have, and I realize that it must be exercised even as my legs or my lungs were exercised in athletics. I am grateful for the opportunity I have to attend college and gain knowledge. While I have slowed down physically, I have accelerated spiritually and mentally.
Realizing that obtaining knowledge and increasing spirituality are ongoing processes, I believe that my new priorities are helping me achieve those elusive goals.
Not many people have the chance to live life from two very different points of view. I am grateful I have had this opportunity. It has helped me place my spirituality, mental capacity, emotional stability, and physical ability in order of their importance.

Danette Allred pauses before beginning her transformation from a fair-haired Wyoming girl into a wicked Nephite dancer. Blue eyes sparkling, she relates the events that have brought her here: “I came to the pageant last year with a youth group, and it really touched me. I decided right then that I’d like to be in it. It made me realize that there is more to the Church than I had thought. And even then I knew I’d like to be a dancer and an angel, which is what I’m playing now.”
Because of her double role, Danette spent weeks of rehearsal with a five-hour, four-day-a-week schedule. Did she ever get tired of it? What about the eight performances? “Oh no, never! I get a special feeling during every performance.”

Shinnah B. from Nairobi, Kenya, knows that Heavenly Father loves her. But she didn’t really know it until a couple of years ago, when she first heard about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from her aunt.
“The missionaries taught me things I didn’t know. They taught me that Heavenly Father loves me, and how to pray,” Shinnah says. After she was baptized, a few experiences helped her better understand God’s love for her. Now she strives to show her love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Very often, too, freedom means packing a burden. Sometimes we want to escape the burden, thinking that freedom would lie in that. A few years ago, I took my truck into the mountains to get some firewood one late fall afternoon. The road up the canyon was covered with snow, and the higher I went, the deeper the snow. Soon I was far up, and the snow was deep. I pulled off the road and promptly got stuck. I moved several logs that were in front of the wheels, but I still couldn’t go. By this time it was getting dark. “Maybe someone will come along,” I thought. “While I’m waiting, I might as well cut up a little wood.” Soon I had a whole load of firewood, but still no one had come. “Well,” I thought, “I’d better start walking.”
Before I did, I decided to try just one more time to move the track. I put my truck in gear, and it slowly but surely pulled back onto the road. The load of wood had given the truck traction. What it could not do empty, it could do full.

I went to the movies with some friends of mine from church. When we entered the mall, we were given a ticket for the parking lot. After the movie ended, we realized that we had lost the parking ticket. At first we thought we could just pay for the ticket, but none of us had the 180 pesos needed for the fine.
The consequence of not paying for parking was leaving the car at the mall to get towed, which would be even more expensive. Despair overcame my friends, especially the one who was driving since the car belonged to his father. I stepped away to say a prayer. I asked Heavenly Father with all my faith and humility to provide us a way to resolve our problem and return safely to our homes. I will never forget what happened just seconds after I finished my prayer.
As I was walking back toward the car, someone behind me started calling my name. It was Francisco, a friend from high school. He asked what I was doing, and I told him what had happened. Without hesitation, he got out his wallet and gave me enough money to pay for the lost ticket. This act of kindness was an immediate response to my supplications to Heavenly Father.
Francisco may never know what a great help he was, but I know that I will be deeply grateful for the rest of my life.